Something Old, Something New
by sirenlungs
Summary: Stuck in an unhappy marriage Emma Swan finds that her once fulfilling life is anything but that. Can the reappearance of old flame, Killian Jones, help her find what she's been missing? Rated M for later chapters. Modern AU.
1. Prologue

Emma Swan twisted the two rings around her finger, counting every lap the diamond and wedding band rotated around it, a habit she'd picked up two and a half years ago when she had first gotten engaged.

A telltale sign that she was anxious.

She continued to drink her glass of chardonnay, trying to compose herself but to no avail. She tried not to look at her phone, knowing full well that Walsh hadn't and wasn't about to answer her text message that she sent him an hour ago any time soon. _You'd think my own husband would get back to me_, she thought bitterly, _but God knows he's more committed to his job than his own wife_. Giving up, she makes sure that her phone's ringer is loud and running, and takes her glass of chardonnay with her to the living room, leaving her phone on the kitchen counter.

Still twisting her rings, she stares at the package that she received in the mail today. Her college roommate, Mary Margaret, was finally tying the knot with her long time boyfriend, David. 

_It's about time, really_. She thinks as she opens the rustic wooden box, tied together with a rose blush ribbon. In it there's a monogrammed necklace, a flask, a packet of Jordan almonds, countless other knick-knacks, and a heart-warming letter with hand-lettered cursive typeface bearing the words, "Will you be my bridesmaid?"

Emma doesn't really know what's stopping her from calling Mary Margaret up and accepting her offer. She's ecstatic for her and for David. She's known both of them since freshman seminar and couldn't think of a more perfect couple to decide to spend their lives together. She wants to do it, and she will. But right now, looking around her dark and empty Upper West Side apartment, she can't bear to think about how there could be people who aren't as miserable as she currently is. Bitterly, she reprimands herself about being so angry. For a woman who spent so much time during her childhood jumping from foster home to foster home, she had certainly ended up in a much better place than anyone else she has met. Her apartment is lavish, she's a top New York marketing executive, she's married to an attractive, successful, if albeit neglectful husband, and the Harry Winston rock on her finger is worth the down payment on a car. There is no reason for her to be unhappy, except that none of the things she's listed off makes her feel particularly fulfilled. Her job is the only thing that gives her some sort of vocational fulfillment, given that it's the only thing that wasn't handed to her on a silver platter by getting involved with Walsh. No, she got that corner office by her own very hard work.

She downs the last of her glass, relishing in the fuzzy, warm feeling in the pit of her stomach as the effects of the wine reach almost every end of her body. Standing up, she heads back to the kitchen and forgoes pouring herself another glass and just takes the entire bottle back into the room. Checking her phone, she isn't surprised to see no message waiting for her, and continues to her room.

Two hours later the alcohol in her system is putting her in a worse mood than she was previously. Chardonnay bottle forgotten on the floor of the bathroom she's been in the tub for God knows how long. The water, once frothy and warm has turned cold and milky with soap. Her fingers and toes are pruned from so much exposure to water. Emma can't see straight, alcohol blurring her vision and her surroundings. She can't help but ask herself where did it all go wrong? Walsh and her were an incredible couple. She remembers the times in the beginning, how incredibly happy they were. How she felt how he couldn't get enough of her, coming home early, convincing her to take off from work to stay in the sheets all day, talking and laughing, making love so frequently. But why is it that now they're a hollow shell of the couple they used to be? Where was the passion, the company, the love they promised each other until death do they part? She's rabid with anger, hot tears prickling the back of her eyes, her nose scrunching up trying to stop them from falling down. When she finally exits the tub and heads to her room she has half a mind to chuck her rings at all the smiling pictures of her and Walsh.

_ This isn't living. This isn't what I signed up for. _

It's almost one o'clock in the morning when, after crying for a fair amount of time, she finally falls asleep.

Emma almost doesn't wake up at her usual time, a quarter to seven. She barely heard her alarm clock going off. The morning greets her with an incredibly horrible headache.

"Too much wine." She mutters to herself, barely being able to swing her legs over to get out of bed. When she stands the room around her sways a bit and an awful sensation swells in the pit of her stomach. She's very aware just of how drunk she still is. Walsh is nowhere to be found, but he messaged her when she was too drunk to notice it last night, that he was staying over in the office that night because of the mountain of work he and his team still needed to finish.

"I wonder what the press would think if they knew New York State senator Walsh Hamilton's wife was going to work still drunk?" she mused, trying to make herself look presentable and less like the shit show she looks like now. Finally finished, she heads for work.

Her phone vibrates as she and a dozen other people, each in their own world, cross Madison and 7th.

"I was just about to call you!" she says trying to rid herself of Mary's scolding.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you had died or something last night! Did you get my package, cause I figured you'd be the first to call but you didn't." she sounds slightly annoyed, her usual motherly tone nowhere part of this conversation, Emma doesn't know if she's teasing or not.

"I meant to call, I just had a terrible night last night." she replies.

"Walsh?" Mary offers knowingly.

"Yep."

"Em, you've got to talk to him. It's not doing your relationship any good for you to hold resentment towards him."

"I know, I know. I just wish he _was _actually there so I _could _talk to him. But he doesn't care. I swear he only thinks of himself." Emma replies exasperatedly.

"I'm sure that's not it. He loves you, it's true love remember?" her hopeful tone is cute, but not cute enough to convince Emma.

"Yeah, okay. Let's change the topic, can we? So, you're finally getting things together for the wedding."

"Yes! By the way, what's your answer? I can't not have you as my maid of honor! You need to guide me through this and be my savior!" she pleads.

"Alright, I'll do it! I'll do it! But promise me you won't get crazy." Emma warns sternly but smiles despite herself.

"I promise! I promise I'll be good!' she squeals something about being so excited and that she has to go and tell David before hanging up. Emma feels a little better that morning. She feels like someone needs her, and that's something she hasn't felt in a while.


	2. Chapter 1

"How about this one?" Mary Margaret comes out of the dressing room with so much hope in her voice it almost sounds like desperation. The dress is beautiful, but not quite what they've been looking for within their budget range. Emma gives her head a curt little shake, plunging Mary Margaret into a deeper state of exasperation.

"What's wrong with it?!" Mary Margaret huffs.

"_Feathers? _The entire skirt is made of _feathers._" Emma says simply.

"It's feathers over silk taffeta, Emma. Silk. Taffeta." She snaps.

"It's horrible. I think you're just desperate to find a dress to the point of choosing an awful one just to get this over with. As maid of honor, I cannot let you walk out of here with that dress."

"Thank you, Miss Tact. Why don't you pick one?" Mary Margaret snaps again.

"I did, you didn't like it." Emma can tell that her calm demeanor is further pushing Mary Margaret over the edge.

"I said no flowers." She replies hotly.

"Mags, you said you'd behave." Emma says plainly.

"I am behaving! I have four months till my wedding and this is the third store we go to and I need to find my dress today! _Today!_ Come on, Linda! Get me out of this dress." Linda, the sales rep, follows dutifully clearly accustomed to brides on the verge of nervous breakdowns.

Linda comes back a couple of moments later telling her that Mary Margaret has changed her mind and she'll try the dress Emma pointed out earlier.

Mary Margaret walks out of the dressing room a few minutes later wearing the dress. It's a crisp white net-over-satin ball gown with a lace bodice of organza apple blossoms with shimmering rhinestones and crystal centers. The skirt has scattered blossom details and on the waist a satin sash with a back bow. Personally, Emma thinks its perfect for her.

Mary Margaret is quiet, cocking her head at her reflection, inspecting every inch of it.

"What do you think?" Emma offers.

"I don't know-" she starts.

"Linda, bring the veil!" Emma cuts her off quickly. Moments later Linda scurries forward with a two-tier fingertip length veil featuring the same organza flowers like the ones Mary Margaret has in her dress and a beaded embroidered edge. As she pins it to Mary Margaret's jet-black pixie, Emma can see in her friend's reaction that they didn't need to look in any more stores.

"How about now?" she offers.

"I feel like Snow White." Mary Margaret replies, a shell-shocked expression still gracing her delicate features.

"Well, considering she's your favorite I'm gonna say that we can check dress hunting off our list?"

"Mhmm." Mary Margaret replies absentmindedly.

"Are you going to take it off or…?" Emma prods.

"What? Oh! Yeah." Mary Margaret replies through a laugh.

"Well, hurry up! I'll buy you lunch."

"Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaims loudly mid-conversation, eyes wide, making the waiter at their favorite bistro, _Granny's_, look at her concerned.

"What?" Emma starts.

"I forgot to tell you! Guess who David ran into like three weeks ago?" She continues excitedly.

"I couldn't tell you." Emma replied simply, not in the mood for guessing games.

"You're not even going to try to guess are you?"

"Nope. Who'd he run into?" Emma asks, her mouth full of roast beef and bread from her French Dip.

"Killian!" At the mention of his name Emma feels her entire body run cold. Her throat runs dry and she has trouble swallowing the rest of her sandwich, causing her to choke and nearly die in the process.

"Well I expected you to react badly to this but nearly dying wasn't something I envisioned." Mary Margaret tells her, her voice somewhat concerned but she still speaks between laughs.

"I'm sorry, what? You better be kidding, the last thing I need is my ex showing up in the middle of my midlife crisis." Emma sputters anxiously.

"I'm curious. Can you have a midlife crisis when you're 29?" Mary Margaret teases.

Emma just waves her hands at her. Instead of whipping up a snarky remark, she knits her eyebrows together and bites her lip, her mind running a mile a minute. She and Killian didn't exactly end up in the worst terms when they broke it off and she knows she has nothing against the guy. She doesn't really know why she's so worried about him being in town. It's just been so long. How many years? Seven? Eight? Eight. _Shit, that's a long time. _

"How long is he in town for?" she asks.

"He lives here now." Mary Margaret answers simply.

"_What? Where?"_ Emma feels the edge of a panic attack quickly approaching. Her heart was beating faster and faster by the second.

"Jesus, I don't know Emma. David talked to him, not me." Mary Margaret shrugs.

"When did he move here?" Emma is relentless. She needs information. She needs to know where he lives, what bars he frequents, where he works, what he works in. She needs to know everything so she can avoid him successfully. If he looks anything like he used to eight years ago, she does not need him anywhere near her in the state she's in.

"_I don't know_. A couple of months ago, probably, David said he looked pretty at ease with the subway system to have just moved in."

"This is ridiculous. Why is he here?"

"Emma why don't you ask him yourself? David and I are going to dinner tonight, you're more than welcome to come with."

"Are you insane? Really, are you? Because you sound insane." Emma snaps.

"Emma, it was _eight _years ago. It was a fling that you had when you studied abroad. Plus, I think he's married. Why are you freaking out?"

"He's married?" Emma doesn't know why the piece of information makes her heart sink down to her stomach. It's not like she's available either. "And I'm not freaking out."

"I can't remember if he just got married or if he just got divorced. Something happened not so long ago, David said." Mary Margaret says nonchalantly, stabbing her Cobb salad with her fork and a shrug of her shoulders. "And you're absolutely freaking out."

"That's quite the difference." Emma says matter-of-factly.

"Are you coming tonight? David said he asked about you." Mary Margaret continues.

"I don't care if he asked or not! I'm not going. I have no interest of seeing the man I thought I was in love with and then lost contact with all too easily. I have no desire to see him, ever." Emma answers defiantly.

"Well you're shit out of luck then. He's coming to the wedding."

"WHAT. No! No. Nope. No. Why? No. Just no."

"Emma, don't start. It's my wedding, I can invite whomever I please."

"I'd rather you invite Cora, the crazy girl in our floor from sophomore year." Emma whined.

"Emma, Killian is going to the wedding. He already RSVP'd. He's going." Their lunch ends sourly. Not that it's any damage to their relationship, Mary Margaret knows just how grumpy Emma can get. They part ways when the subway stops at Madison Avenue and Emma gets out on her way back to work.

Emma arrives at her empty apartment at a quarter to six later that evening, her mind still reeling about her conversation with Mary Margaret. She's going to see Killian for the first time in exactly three months and twenty-five days if she manages to avoid him till the wedding. She doesn't really know why she's freaking out about him being in town. If anything, she decides, she's worried about what he'll think about her drastic life change. She's nothing like the girl he met eight years ago in Dublin. She decides that that's what she's afraid of, as a way of coping with the fact that she hates that she's nothing like the happy, carefree, person she was eight years ago like she wishes she could be.

Dropping off her bag at the foot of her bed, she slips off her shoes and undoes the zipper of her white pencil skirt. She proceeds to continue with her afternoon routine: she takes a shower, heats up leftovers, pops open a bottle of wine, and watches the evening news. After she finishes she decides to do something different other than getting drunk watching TV. She stands and looks in her and Walsh's record collection and pulls out her favorite Janis Joplin. Soon, psychedelic guitar riffs and Joplin's soulful voice fills up the entire apartment. Taking sips of her wine (White Zinfandel today) she starts to sway to the rhythm, the music taking her back to that year in Dublin.

She walks back to her room and further back to her closet, standing and swaying on top of a little stool she reaches the weathered wooden trunk where she stores all her old keepsakes. She finds the old photo album she was looking for and makes her way back to her living room. Sitting on the floor, Emma pours herself more wine and opens up the album. Looking through the pictures, she smiles despite herself.

There are pictures of everything. She sees pictures of her, Mary Margaret, and David at the airport, on the airplane, prank pictures of them asleep. She laughs along with their past selves. There are quintessential pictures of trying Guinness, and one of Mary Margaret gagging over black pudding. Emma laughs again, memories flooding back to her. And then suddenly, there's Killian smiling up at her from the album, stopping her dead in her tracks. He's in basically every picture in the rest of the album. Looking at her, kissing her, making her laugh, posing with her in leather jackets.

She stands up and runs back to her closet, sifting through each and every article of clothing. There's beige after beige, white after white, navy, black, solid sensible colors that the personal shopper Walsh suggested to Emma had arranged for her. She can't find it. She goes straight to the back, clamped, dusty part of her closet, praying against hope that there's where it would be, and it is. It's old, dusty, and cramped because of being pressed up against the wall for a couple of years, but it's there. The red leather jacket that she bought in Dublin, her style staple for the years following studying abroad.

She slips it on, knowing that even though it's a little too tight right now, once it's aired out it will fit as well as it used to. She walks back to her living room with the jacket on and sits back down. She had left the album open on a picture of herself, Mary Margaret, David, and Killian in O'Donoghues, their favorite Dublin pub. Emma remembers that night perfectly. That was the night she and Killian kissed for the first time. The rest was history after that night. She shuts the album closed and shakes her head to rid herself of thoughts of Killian and their year in Ireland. She wakes up next to Walsh the next morning, his arms draped across her belly and their legs intertwined with each other's. This was real. Walsh was her husband, and no ex-boyfriend returned from the grave was going to diminish the love she had promised Walsh on their wedding day.


	3. Chapter 2

_AN: Hello my lovelies! Sorry this took so long to update, but I was travelling and I needed this to be perfect! I'm definitely going to update the next chapter next week, Sunday night most likely as I'm going to a place without internet but should by back by then. Thank you all for the positive response! Remember that reviews are always welcome!_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Emma walks into her apartment at a six thirty in the afternoon, three months and twenty-two days later. Tired from a long day's work and a horridly long commute, she slips off her shoes and automatically starts to go through her afternoon routine. Eyes closed, she pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs her temples to try to get rid of the headache that has been plaguing her all afternoon.

"Honey!" Walsh's energetic voice snaps her out of her reverie and startles her, making her bump into the island in the kitchen.

"Walsh!" she says breathless, right hand clutching at her chest, left hand rubbing the spot on her hip that she bumped against the island. "You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing here?" She doesn't mean to sound accusatory but let's be honest; he hasn't been home before her in more than a year.

"Well, you know, I kind of live here." He says sarcastically.

_Hardly, _Emma thinks.

"No, I mean, what are you doing here so early?" She says rummaging through their kitchen for some ibuprofen.

"I got off work early. Plus, I wanted to take you out for dinner, we haven't done that in a while." He smiles brightly at her, but his smile falters when he sees her knit her eyebrows together and bite her lip. "What?" he asks.

"Nothing, I just kind of wanted an early night tonight."

"Hon, it's just dinner." He stares at her, hopeful. "C'mon Emma, l want to make it up to you."

"Make what up to me?" she asks, fully knowing what he's going to say.

"Emma, I'm not going to deny it. I've been working day in and day out. I know I've been a complete asshole. I've been MIA for months and I haven't been the husband you deserve. I want to take you out on a date, it's the least I can do for working so much. C'mon baby. I miss you."

"Alright, alright. Stop groveling and let me go change." she says, smiling despite herself.

* * *

They arrived at _Ai Fiori _just in time for they're seven thirty reservation. Emma had to handle it to Walsh, she did love this restaurant. She never went to it without him though, the salads started at $16 and the main entrees started above $30. Emma and her friends preferred Granny's to anything, but if Walsh was willing to pay for this decadent Italian restaurant (and he was), she wasn't about to say no.

"Get whatever you want, hon." He smiles widely at her.

Emma decides on the _Astice_, butter poached Nova Scotia lobster accompanied by glazed root vegetables, nebrodini mushrooms drizzled in a chateau chalon sauce. Emma didn't know, nor did she care, what nebrodini mushrooms were or what a chateau chalon sauce meant, but it was a forty-dollar lobster plate, and that to her was apology enough. Walsh settled on the pork loin with gnocchi and fennel a la grecque.

When they're halfway done with their meal, Walsh speaks up.

"I've got some exciting news!"

"Yeah? What is it?" Emma raises her eyebrows at him.

"I'm going to Washington this weekend, and you're coming with me." He starts and as he's about to continue Emma cuts him off.

"Walsh, Mary Margaret and David are getting married this weekend." He looks at her and cocks an eyebrow.

"No, that's next weekend." He says brushing her off.

"_No._ I've been helping her plan it for almost eight months now. It's this weekend." Emma replies forcefully.

"Well, you're just going to have to miss it because we _have _to go to D.C. tomorrow." Anger rapidly starts coursing through Emma's entire body.

"I am _not _missing my best friend's wedding! Especially not when I'm the maid of honor, Walsh. Why do we have to be in D.C.?" She hisses.

"Emma, the campaign starts on Monday. I need to be down there and start getting ready with my wife by my side. You're in PR, you should know this." He replies calmly, a stoic smile placed firmly in his face.

"First of all, I am in marketing and second of all, why are you campaigning when there's two years left till elections?" She's grabbing her fork and knife so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.

"Emma," he starts looking at her incredulously as if he couldn't believe she didn't know, "I'm running for senator in _Congress._"

Emma feels like the floor opened up under her. If he gets elected to Congress that means that she'll have to go with him and live in D.C. and while she has nothing against the capitol, she doesn't want to leave her life in New York.

"Is that what you've been doing all these months? Planning a _campaign_?" she asks furiously.

"Emma, don't make a scene." He replies quietly, but his voice is stern, reprimanding, and authoritative.

"Oh, is this why you chose to tell me in a public restaurant, so I wouldn't make a scene?" Emma asks hotly.

"No, Emma, I just wanted to make conversation. Big things are happening to me, to _us_. You're my wife, naturally I want to tell you where our lives are headed." He sighs.

"Well, as your wife, don't you think it's also natural to consider my opinion on your decision to run for Congress? I don't want to move to Washington, Walsh."

"Emma this isn't up for discussion. The wheels have been set in motion and the campaign starts on Monday. I cannot go back on this."

"Walsh, this is my _life._ Mary Margaret and David are my family and you want me to just walk out on them? You want me to walk out on my job, the job I got on my own and worked incredibly hard for? How is this fair of you to just spring it on me?" At this point Emma has been twirling her rings incredibly fast, anxiety seeping in through every pore.

"Emma, I think you're being incredibly selfish." Walsh says quietly.

_"I'm_ being selfish?"

"Yes." He replies simply.

"You're telling me that you've been hiding an entire political campaign that you've been working on for more than six months from me. You want me to miss my best friends' wedding so you can take pictures and start a campaign for a job you might not even get. Also, if you get said job, you want me to move somewhere else, start over and leave the job I love so _you _can get the job of your dreams. And telling you that I don't want to do any of those things makes _me_ selfish? This is ridiculous, I'm going home." Emma stands up and forcefully puts down her napkin on the table.

The muggy June air hits her as she stands outside of the restaurant. Drawing a deep breath she extends an arm to hail a taxi and makes her way home. Walsh has been texting her nonstop since the moment she got in the cab and she has been ignoring the messages pointedly. When she arrives at her apartment it's as if she's on autopilot, she goes straight to her closet and takes out a suitcase and starts packing for her trip tomorrow. Mary Margaret and David's wedding is up in Mary Margaret's parent's old summer estate in a sleepy town in Maine and Emma is scheduled to take the very first train out there.

Tears are blurring her vision, threatening to fall, as she keeps packing and getting all her belongings in order. She just couldn't believe anything that just happened. She doesn't even want to think about the possibility of leaving New York, of leaving Mary Margaret, David, and her work. These were all the things that made her Emma. They've defined her for at least a decade. Mary Margaret has been almost like a mother to her, she's been her family ever since she started college. She spent what she likes to call her "First Thanksgiving" with Mary Margaret's family up in Maine. She spent her summers there, relaxing by the New England Sea, working with Mary Margaret as counselors of a summer camp held in the state park. And David, if Mary Margaret was like a mother and a sister, David was definitely a father and a brother. Emma was always a bit of a tomboy, so she got along with David at first better than Mary Margaret. He was so protective over her. They both mean the world to Emma and now Walsh wants her to pack up her things and move, no questions asked?

Emma doesn't know when she falls asleep but it feels as if the second she closed her eyes her alarm went off. Lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, everything is foggy around her. She turns around and doesn't see Walsh next to her and for the first time she feels a wave of relief wash over her. She knows that's not a good feeling to have when it comes to your husband, but at this moment she's still too furious to care about her dwindling feelings for her husband.

She makes her way to Grand Central Station two coffees and an hour and a half later. She's early, so she sits in the bench in the station and opens up a newspaper. Emma is now on her third cup of coffee, resigned to the fact that nothing is waking her up today. Finally, the train arrives and she hops on, finding her seat near the window. Slipping in her earphones and pressing play on her phone's music player, her eyes close almost instantly, the hum of the wheels on the track willing her to sleep again. She's only half asleep and doesn't know how long she's been on the train by now. Her eyes are accustomed to the light flickering on her closed eyelids due to the scenery change outside of her window and Emma wishes she wasn't so terrible at being able to sleep while travelling. She decides to focus on steadying her breath, almost meditating, in order to fall asleep faster, but her mind is still running a mile a minute with the altercations with Walsh right now. She wishes she could just quiet her mind, stop time for two seconds, and sleep. A light tap on her shoulder interrupts her intentions, however. When green eyes open they meet a pair of piercing familiar blue ones, slowing time to a screeching halt.

"Swan."

* * *

_AN: I feel so evil for leaving you hanging like that but I didn't want this chapter to ramble on. Thanks for reading though! New chapter will be up soon!_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Unbelievable, _Emma thought. _Un-fucking-belivable. _It took her two seconds to regain her composure, chastise her stomach for doing an unrecognizable and, not to mention, _unwelcome_ flip, to return Killian Jones's smile. She had rather hoped to see him at the reception, —note that she _just _wanted to see him and thoroughly avoid him—where she at least had the help of a gorgeous floor length gown and two tons of makeup on her face. She envisioned that that getup would end up making a much more lasting impression than the one she currently wore, that of yoga pants, oversized sweater, and topped off with what she very well presumes is a sliver of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.

"Killian." She says simply, his name rolling off her tongue in an all too familiar way. At the mention of his name his smile grows even wider, if possible.

"I'm sorry I woke you." He says, his accent enveloping every word. God, she used to melt whenever he talked to her. "I just had to say hi."

_Actually, _she thinks, _it's still divine. _

"Don't worry about it." She wants to ask him to sit, she also wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole, and jumping out the window isn't a terrible option either.

"Is someone sitting with you or may I?" he gestures at the seat in front of her.

"Go for it." Why?_ Why Emma, why?_

He smiles at her again. This is so _awkward. _She thought if she ever met him again she would be so suave, you know? Her hair would be blowing in the wind; she'd be walking in slow motion, laughing while throwing her head back, and she'd have sparkling green eyes with a mischievous glint in them. She thought he'd be so taken aback by her breathtaking beauty and confidence that he'd wonder, oh would he wonder, why he ever let her go. There might have been some serious karaoke involved in this fantasy, but she'd rather not go into details. However, she's far from being anything like the Emma in her fantasy. He smiles, so she smiles back. She's basically half mute, and half scared to death.

"You've been avoiding me." Killian starts, a devilish smirk gracing his face. Emma can't decide if he's changed so much or if he hasn't at all. He's clean shaven and he dresses better, that's for sure, but his eyes are still as striking and he seems just as snarky. She guesses that his jawline is definitely stronger and he's filled out in all the right places, she can tell because he's wearing dark wash jeans and a navy blue fitted t-shirt. His hair is still the same jet-black but it's slicked back now and slightly faded on the sides.

"I have not." Emma defends herself, half a smile gracing her lips.

"If you're anything like the Emma Swan I knew when I was a lad, then you've definitely been avoiding me." He smirks at her.

"I've been busy." She replies nervously, failing miserably at swerving out of the topic.

"Well so have I, but I was still willing to hang out! There's nothing wrong in catching up, love." At the mention of the pet name her stomach does that unruly flip again, making her squirm in her seat.

"I was nervous." She says finally, looking up through her eyelashes.

"About what? C'mon, love. We were friends before being lovers, we can be friends again." He says sincerely.

"I don't know what I was nervous about, I just was." She shakes her head and twirls her rings underneath the table.

"Well, in any case, you still owe me a pint." He says simply, grinning at her.

"I owe you a pint?" She scoffs.

"Of course you do, you skipped at least seven dinner invitations at the Charming's' just to avoid me. The very _least_ you can do is have a drink with me." She laughs at the mention of the Charming's, their old nickname for Mary Margaret and David. They absolutely hated it at first, but the name stuck while they were abroad.

They talk for most of the trip, catching up and poking fun at each other. Emma feels carefree and lighter than she has in weeks. Killian tells her he works in advertising, and is assistant creative director at a small advertising firm. He says that the company he works at is probably going to be part of a large merger in the upcoming weeks so he doesn't know what's going to happen with his job yet. He also hasn't stopped smiling since he saw her, and Emma thinks that neither has she. For someone who hasn't felt like she hasn't had reason to smile in almost a year, she certainly doesn't feel the strain of her face splitting in half due to smiling too much. For the first time in weeks, probably even months, smiling feels _natural_.

His attention catches sight of her right ring finger when she goes to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears.

"Congratulations on that, by the way." He says pointing at her rings. Emma doesn't know why, but she feels guilty for even wearing them.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." She hopes her feigned joy sounds legitimate.

"How long?" He asks, nonchalant.

"Three years next October." She replies as if she didn't feel incredibly awkward to be having this conversation with her first love.

"David said his name is Walter? What does he do?" Emma can't decide if he is genuinely intrigued or if he's a fantastic actor.

"Walsh. He's a state senator." She doesn't want to talk about Walsh to Killian. She doesn't want to talk about Walsh period.

"Oh wow. Fancy." He replies with a smile and a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, pretty fancy."

"So you pretty much have to be on your best behavior, then?" He winks at her and she feels like stabbing the fluttering thing in her stomach immediately.

"Something like that." She says instead, rolling her eyes at him. He smiles at her and stays quiet. They're nearing Maine and should be arriving at Portland soon. Emma looks outside her window for what seems like an eternity, her eyes unfocused on the changing scenery, her mind racing but not really dwelling on any particular thing.

"Are you happy?" Killian says seriously after a while. She snaps her attention back at him and finds him looking intently in her direction. His blue eyes intensely locked on her green ones.

"In general or with Walsh?" she asks.

"Both." He replies.

_No. I'm not. _She wants to answer.

"Yes, absolutely." She replies instead.

"Then that makes me happy." He tells her, a genuine smile directed at her.

After they get off the train and David picks both up, Emma and Killian rarely see each other for most of the day until the actual ceremony. They had arrived in Portland at 8:15 in the morning and the drive to Storybrooke took another half an hour. The ceremony wasn't until four. Emma spent most of the day finalizing details, making sure Mary Margaret didn't have a panic attack, and getting ready. The day itself was kind of a blur, just like most important life events tend to go. She didn't have time to think about Killian, nor about Walsh.

The ceremony starts promptly at four o'clock. The weather in Storybrooke is crisp and breezy, ever different than the stifling heat of New York during the summer. The ceremony and the reception are to be held in the lavish backyard of Mary Margaret's parents' estate. Emma and Killian are both staying at the house, which has always been massive in size and white in color with blue-grey tiles on the roof and deep blue painted shutters beside every window. In the distance, you can see a dock with a sailboat tied to it, the New England waters sloshing quietly against the shore. The backyard is full of large oak and maple trees, providing shade for the guests. Emma glides down the aisle after a throng of bridesmaids and groomsmen has gone before her. She's wearing a rose blush floor-length gown. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and flower buds sewn into the chiffon skirt, similar to those on Mary Margaret's own wedding dress. Emma wears her long blonde hair down, pinned with a gold sparkly barrette on her left side and parted to the right in long loose curls.

She felt Killian's eyes on her the entire ceremony. She even glanced his way a couple of times and found him either grinning brightly at her or averting his gaze away from her a millisecond too late. She felt giddy, heat radiating from her stomach every time this happened. Deep down she knew it was wrong. She was a married woman, after all. However, she didn't think there was anything horrible about the exchange granted that she didn't act on it, and she didn't plan to.

Killian comes up to her midway through the reception, after all the speeches have been made and all the important dances have happened. She's seating in the bridal party table, looking down at her phone reading all the messages that Walsh has sent her. He wants to talk to her, make things right or so he says. She wishes she could throw her phone off the dock.

"Swan, get up and dance with me." He demands, offering her his hand.

"Killian, you know I don't dance." She answers him simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Then have a drink with me, I won't have you moping sitting at an almost empty table. If you won't come willingly, I'll guilt trip you by reminding you that you owe me a drink." He rests his hands on the table and inches forward, grinning widely.

"It's an open bar. I don't think I'd be fulfilling what I owe you." At this he rolls his eyes at her and she responds with a bright smile and raised eyebrows.

"Even better. This way reconnecting comes at no expense to either of us, just at the Charming's'. He winks at her and takes her hand in his, guides her up and around the table, finally placing his hand in the center of her back, pushing her lightly towards the bar.

They devised a plan to have Emma charm the bartender as Killian snuck around the back and smuggled out some cases of beer. You know, so they wouldn't have to go back. Once they were successful, Emma wrapped up the conversation and met Killian at the dock. He received her with an open bottle for her and one for him. With each sip of the bitter liquid, Emma felt herself loosen up. She even started swaying to the music that was playing from the dance floor, causing Killian to laugh at her expense.

"You know, Swan, you haven't changed a bit." He tells her, hand reaching towards hers to hand her the bottle opener as she went for her second bottle.

"I've mellowed out." She tells him, lifting up the cap and taking a swig out of the bottle.

"Naturally, as have I." He nods and finishes his bottle. Emma tries not to stare at his butt as he bends over to get another bottle.

"I'm kind of boring now actually." She tells him cocking her head sideways, staring at him. She's starting to feel the familiar fuzziness come over her senses as the alcohol starts to seep into her bloodstream.

He turns towards her and looks at her quizzically. Giving her half a smile, he walks, closes the distance between them and drapes his free arm around her waist, swaying slightly.

"Now I don't believe that for a second, Swan." He says seriously.

"What are you doing?" she asks him, pressing the top of the bottle to her lips.

"Dancing with you." He shrugs and raises his hand towards her face, holding the bottle with two fingers and brushing back the hair on her forehead.

"Oh." She doesn't know if it's because of the alcohol or if it's him but Emma is definitely in a daze.

"Is that okay?" he asks her sincerely, blue eyes wide and piercing.

"Absolutely." She says quietly and starts swaying with him.

"Why do you think you're boring?" he continues.

"I just…am. I'm not the girl you used to know, I guess." She mumbles, resting her head on his chest.

"Is that why you were avoiding me?" he asks quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you were nervous of seeing me. Was it because you thought I'd think you were boring?" _How does he do that?_ Emma wondered. He always did that. Killian had the knack to read her like a book but he was always a complete mystery to her. Here they were eight years later and he was able to read her emotions and replay them back at her just by intuition.

"I was more worried that you'd see how much I had changed and you'd realize how lucky you were that things ended the way they did." Emma bites her lip, not being able to believe that she let herself open up to him just like that, right off the bat.

"Emma, you haven't changed. Whoever you think you've lost…she's still there. I still see her, your friends still see her, and your husband probably still sees her too."

At the mention of Walsh she stops dancing and lets go of Killian. It was like a bucket full of iced water was thrown over her. She quickly walks over to the cases and pulls out another bottle. Slipping off her shoes, she sits down on the edge of the dock. She turns to him and gives him a small smile as he sits down next to her.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm not happy."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, it's not you. God, I can't believe I'm saying this" she sighs, "It's my marriage." She says hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on her knees.

"Oh…trouble in paradise?" She glares at him then, forcing him to apologize quickly.

And so she tells him everything, beginning from where things started to head south till last night's fight. Two beer bottles later, Emma starts feeling pretty drunk and she has a feeling that Killian is in the same boat as she. He's been trying to make her laugh after she told him her sad little tale. Killian has just been talking and talking, telling her stories about his life and times after the year abroad. He tells her the crazy antics that he got into after returning to school at the University of St. Andrews and he tells her how horrible he felt after they lost contact. Every time he looks at her he grins widely, making her stomach flip. The heat that has been radiating from her stomach has been intensified over time, she feels so comfortable around him. And she can't deny it anymore; she's attracted to him.

"God, what happened to us?" she slurs once a comfortable silence engulfs them.

"I know. We were so good together." He says back, chuckling slightly.

"I was crazy about you." Emma admits as she feels him inching closer to her, her shoulder slightly grazing his upper arm. She looks up at him only to find him staring down at her.

"And I you." he breathes.

"Sometimes, I wish I could go back. I felt so alive back then." There's electricity in the air and is unmistakable. Emma feels like she's about to fall off into an abyss, she's scared to death but also incredibly ready to jump at the same time.

"What about right now?" he asks her softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Like…_right now_, right now?" She breathes, sneaking a look at his lips.

"Aye." He says staring back at her green eyes.

"I feel pretty alive right now too." She concedes.

"So do I." He says before she closes the distance between them and presses her lips against his and Killian is kissing her right back.


	5. Chapter 4

_AN: Hey ya'll! Here it is as promised Chapter 4! I spent a long time trying to make this chapter perfect for y'all so I hope y'all like it! Reviews are extremely welcome! Thank you for all the feedback._

* * *

Chapter 4

The kiss starts slow and tentative, both of them testing the waters with each other. Common sense and propriety are thrown away to the wind, what matters is what's happening right now. Emma pulls Killian closer by his lapels, his hand tangled with the hair at the base of her neck and the other one cupping her cheek. Emma doesn't know who starts it but suddenly the kiss gets desperate and hungry, teeth gnashing with each other's, both of them moaning into each other's mouths. Emma swears she'll die the second he bites down on her lower lip and tugs on it, grinning at her drunkenly when he does it.

Emma needs things to move faster, she hasn't felt this wanted in ages. She places her hand on his thigh and runs it up and down softly, loving the fact that when she reaches around his zipper she can tell just how bad he wants her too. With every second that his lips are on hers, Emma feels like she's waking up from an eternal sleep she didn't even know she was in. Every part of her skin feels like its on fire, she wants more. She _needs_ more.

"Emma…"he groans as she starts to trail kisses along his jaw.

"Mmhmm?" she mumbles back to him, reaching his earlobe and nibbling at it.

"I want you." He says darkly, his voice dripping with lust. She meets his eyes and tries desperately to focus her surroundings and she expects he's doing the same.

"So have me." She says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

Emma feels like she travelled across the reception area in two seconds, she spent most of the time trying to regain her composure. _You are not drunk,_ she thinks, _just glide and no one will be able to tell._ Many of the guests had gone but there were still a few stragglers. She didn't remember seeing Mary Margaret or David, so she must have missed their grand exit. She told Killian she'd meet him in his room, but part of her wishes she had just walked to the room with him that way she would have someone to help her keep her balance. She almost fell up the stairs, she really does not remember the last time she was this drunk. Once she reaches his room she goes to give a light knock on the door but Killian opens it almost at the same time her knuckles reach the wood. She stumbles a little on the way in but he steadies her.

Still grabbing her by her upper arms, he gives her a blazing look and immediately kisses her again. Her arms quickly wrap themselves around his neck and she moans into his mouth. Heat is radiating from her stomach again, filling every inch of her with desire. Killian's hands find the zipper on the back of her dress and quickly undo it, making her dress fall to the floor in a pool around her ankles.

"You've got goose bumps, Swan. Are you sure you want this?" His hot breath is tickling her ear and the last thing Emma wants is for his hands to be anywhere but on her. His touch makes her feel wanted.

He's making her feel alive.

"Shut up and kiss me." She says pulling him back to kiss her by his collar. He grins into the kiss and she grins back into it. Her hands are fumbling with his shirt buttons but finally it's off, exposing his chest. He hisses as she lightly drags her nails down his chest and stomach. She smiles up at him and places her lips on the side of his neck.

Hands still on his chest, Emma pushes Killian back until the back of his knees touch the bed and he lets himself fall on top of it. Everything starts happening then, whatever is left of their clothing is off and strewn across the room in seconds. Killian has pulled her with him in bed and is kissing every inch of her exposed skin. He starts at her lips and makes his way down, kissing her neck and sucking on her collarbone. Emma's breath hitches when his lips make way over her exposed breasts. His warm mouth feels wonderful and when he bites down on her nipple Emma lets out a moan that makes Killian look up at her and chuckle, clearly proud of his work. He continues trailing kisses down her body, grinning before kissing her hipbone. Emma starts squirming instantly, her ticklish spot reacting to him just like it used to eight years ago. She starts to beg him not to kiss her there and tries to move out his head off but he takes her hands and pins them to the side, keeping at it.

"Killian, please." She breathes, a ghost of a laugh on her face.

"What do you want, Swan? Tell me what you want." His eyes are dark, full of lust. He's kneeling on top of her, swaying slightly, just as drunk and mesmerized as she is.

"You."

That was all he needed. In a second Killian parted her legs and slid inside her. Emma felt the familiar fullness take over her. If she thought her body was waking up to his touch earlier, it's definitely awake now. Killian stays still for a few seconds, savoring the moment just as much as she is, then he starts to move. And boy, does he move. He takes her legs and props them up, making her hug his torso with them. He's moving so deep inside her, making her feel fantastic. He tells her to kiss him, and she complies relishing in the feeling of being so incredibly _wanted_. She feels herself being close to the edge, her orgasm right there practically in her grasp. She reaches down in the spot between them and helps herself get there faster, her fingers having reached her clit, the pressure making her want to scream out. Killian smiles down at her and tells her how sexy that is. They are so connected, it's as if the last eight years hadn't happened. She's close now, so close.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

And suddenly, sweet release. She feels her orgasm all throughout her entire body. She pulls Killian closer and drags her nails on his back. Her orgasm was enough to bring him to his edge. He thrusts one more time, two more times, her name a prayer on his lips, and finally, with a moan, he stills on top of her.

Killian rolls off of her and lies on his back, beads of sweat on his forehead. He mumbles something about it being incredible and takes her hand in his and presses his lips to the back of it. Emma has been in a daze since she came, eyes heavy and the world fogging up all around her. Inebriation, exhaustion, and bliss take their toll on her, dragging her to sleep.

* * *

The sun shines brightly the next morning, rays hitting Emma square in the face. Her eyelids flutter open and she's met with an excruciatingly painful headache, a room that's not her own, and an arm draped across her bare stomach.

_Oh, no._

Emma is terrified of turning sideways and facing the mistake she made last night. She doesn't even remember anything after sitting in the dock with Killian.

_Please God, no. _

Emma finally resolves to turn around and finds her worst fears confirmed. There is no doubt in her mind that she had sex with Killian, that she was unfaithful.

She gives a frightful yelp.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my _God_! What did I do?" Killian opens his eyes and sees Emma covering her face with the sheet, almost willing herself to believe that if she couldn't see it, it didn't happen.

Killian's eyes open wide. It's nice to know that she's not the only one with little recollection of last night.

"We _didn't._" he says, clearly just as shocked as she is.

"We must've. I don't know about you but I'm completely naked, Killian." He lifts his side of the sheet and takes a peek underneath it.

"Aye, we did." He resolves, letting his head drop back into the feather pillow in disbelief.

"I have to go. This didn't happen." Suddenly Emma springs off the bed, using the sheet to cover herself up before looking for her items of her clothing thrown everywhere around the room.

"No, Emma! Please stay. It happened…for a reason, love." Killian is much less modest. He gets off the bed in all his buff glory and slips on some boxers and starts walking to her.

"Don't call me that! This was a drunken mistake and it didn't mean anything." She says as she angrily snatches her bra off his hands and slips it on.

"Emma, you can't just walk away from this." He tells her while he slips on a dark t-shirt and buttons up his jeans.

"Watch me." She retorts defiantly, shimmying back into her dress.

"Emma, please. Be reasonable." He pleads.

"I am being reasonable, Killian. I'm _married_. I was weak last night, you said all the right things and I fell right into it. I'm not saying I'm not at fault. I made a mistake and I admit it. Now, I'd like to forget about this whole thing. Okay?" Emma just wants to get out of this room as fast as she possibly can. Ever the runner and the avoider, she wants to put this entire disaster out of her mind. Out of sight, out of mind.

"As you wish." He mumbles, before she heads out of his room, closing the door loudly.

* * *

Emma quickly arrives at her room without being seen and locks the door behind her. Two seconds later she plops down on the floor and hugs her knees closer to her, her face buried in them. Why did she do that? _Why?_ Why did she have to sleep with Killian of all people?

She sighs and wishes she didn't feel like her life was spiraling out of control. Was she going to confess what she did to Walsh? Was she going to feel okay with keeping it a secret from him and go on with life as if nothing ever happened? Was she going to see Killian again? And if she did, was she going to be able to resist any and every temptation and give friendship a chance? All these questions keep running through her mind on repeat as she takes a shower, as she gets dressed, and as she heads down to meet the Charming's' for brunch before heading back to New York.

She's late and met by a glowing Mary Margaret and David, the ever sophisticated Eva and Leopold, and Killian. Of course, the only seat left is right in front of him.

"Did you two have a nice night last night?" Mary Margaret asks brightly.

"What? Why?" Emma responds a bit too harshly and a bit too flustered.

"Because it was our wedding?" Sipping on what's left of her mimosa, Mary Margaret laughs and shakes her head at her.

"Oh, yeah." Emma bites her lips, hoping she didn't give anything away.

"I'm afraid Swan and I are still recovering from last night's bar service." They laugh while Killian continues to charm them. Emma knows she should feel thankful for Killian saving her like that, but instead she decides to sulk lower in her seat. He looks at her and gives her a small smile, testing the waters. She looks away disinterested, pretending that his smile didn't cause a familiar heat to start radiating from her stomach.

* * *

Around three-thirty in the afternoon, Emma is finally on her way back to New York. Killian has been courteous enough to not sit next to her, giving her the space she had previously asked for. She's been listening to music the entire ride, anything to keep her from thinking about the memories that were resurfacing from last night. She didn't want to remember how amazing his kisses were, how he pinned her arms above her head and moved inside of her. She stole so many glances during the trip and he even met her gaze a couple of times.

When the train starts slowing down she sees Killian make his way towards her. He raises his hand up to stop her as she frantically starts shaking her head at him.

_Do not come over. I do not want to talk to you. _ Emma averts her gaze and looks towards the window.

"Swan, stop. Now, you do not have to talk to me but at least look at me." He says, his voice strong, commanding attention.

Emma doesn't say anything and just looks at him.

"I just wanted to tell you, about last night. I do not regret it. Not one bit. Now, I know that you never want to talk about it again and I understand. But I know, that deep down, you don't regret it either and you owe it to yourself to be happy."

By that time the train had stopped and they had arrived at New York. Killian turned away from her and exited the train while she sat in a stunned silence. On her way home, Emma's mind raced a mile a minute and deep down she knew that Killian was right. All questions aside, Emma did not regret last night at all.


	6. Chapter 5

_AN: Here it is! Hope you like it! Reviews are always most welcome and appreciated! - Steph  
_

* * *

Chapter 5

_2006_

It's a chilly October night in Dublin and Emma, Mary Margaret, and David are out at a Halloween themed party held by one of their classmates. It was a last minute invite and Mary Margaret basically coerced Emma into her costume. She was dressed as Tinkerbell and she hated every aspect of it. Except the wings, Emma rather liked the wings.

"He won't stop looking at you, Em!" Mary Margaret says excitedly, smiling at Emma over her red cup. She was talking about Killian or William. Frankly, Emma still hadn't been able to catch his name correctly. He's another student in the Study Abroad program. Emma can accept the fact that he's attractive, extremely so. His hair jet-black, eyes a piercing light blue with a mischievous glint in them, taller than Emma, and had an accent that made all of the female, and some male, American abroad students melt. Emma sneaks a look at him and he winks back at her, making Emma whip her head away from him and towards the conversation.

"He should. He's making me uncomfortable. I hate this stupid costume." She was never one for frills growing up, and the bright green petticoat under her matching lime-green tutu was bringing her over to the edge of murdering someone.

"Oh, come on! He's so cute. You should go talk to him and stop it you look adorable." Emma shakes her head and downs the rest of the orange juice and vodka she was drinking in one gulp.

"David, tell your girlfriend to be quiet." Emma knew she'd get Mary Margaret to shut up (or at least quit bothering her) once she said this. David and Mary Margaret weren't dating, but it was obvious that they held some feelings for each other.

"Emma for the last time we're not dating, the ever lovely Kathryn is waiting for her prince charming back in New York." Kathryn was David's current girlfriend and she was _not _happy that he was over here in Dublin with Mary Margaret and Emma. In fact, every night David had to spend exactly ten minute's worth of roaming cellular cost talking to Kathryn and ensuring his affection for her while denying his ever-growing love for Mary Margaret. David is silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with their exchange. Emma can tell that he's growing restless and tired of Kathryn and that one of these days she's getting the cut.

"I'm going to get another drink. Do you guys want anything?" Emma says changing topics.

"Oh, get me another one of these jungle juice thingies!" Mary Margaret perks up. Emma warns her to be careful with those, knowing that Mary Margaret was close to her inebriation limit, but Mary Margaret just shook her head and waved her arms at her, telling her that she's fine and that she can take care of herself.

The drink table is crowded and it takes Emma a couple of minutes to reach the front of it. When she does, the same piercing blue eyes that were staring at her earlier meet her.

"What can I get you, love?" he asks her, a snarky smile gracing his face.

"Nothing I can't get myself." Emma responds, bending to get a beer and another red cup of the pink colored alcohol concoction that Mary Margaret is drinking.

"I'm receiving some very hostile vibes from you, Tinkerbell." He tells her, incredibly amused.

"You're very intuitive. Congratulations." Emma's voice drips with sarcasm.

"Well if I can't get you a drink, can I at least know your name?" She looks up and meets his intense gaze. She feels her breath hitch and is taken back by how close his face is to hers.

"Maybe." She says with a sniff, pushing up her thick glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

"Maybe? How can I persuade that 'maybe' to turn into a 'yes'?" He's coy, rounding around the table and standing closer to her. With his hook, he pushes back a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You can't. I was taught not to give my name to strange men I haven't met." Emma tells him simply, rolling her eyes and stepping away from him.

"Oh, well if meeting me is the case. The name is Killian Jones, but most people tonight have taken to call me by my more colorful moniker—Hook." He responds, waving the fake hook coming out of his left sleeve at her. This makes Emma smile slightly.

"A name, just a name, Tinkerbell." He pleads loudly as she makes to turn away from the table and walk back to David and Mary Margaret.

"Emma." She tells him, a small smile on her face, "Emma Swan."

She turns her back to him and starts to make her way over to Mary Margaret and David.

"You're beautiful, Emma Swan." He calls after her.

"I'm smart, too." She responds cheekily and walks away from him, shaking her head, leaving a stunned Killian standing with a lopsided grin on his face.

Emma walks back to find David gone and Mary Margaret being chatted up by a tall, dirty blonde guy in pants that are definitely too tight for him. When Emma approaches, Mary Margaret completely disregards the fact that the guy was in the middle of a sentence and goes up to her.

"Finally! What took you so long?"

"Just got caught up at the table. Where's David?"

"Out talking with his Ice Queen." Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and takes a sip. She motions to somewhere behind Emma and gives Emma a knowing grin.

"So, how was talking with your sexy pirate?" Mary Margaret asks, a giddy grin smiling up at Emma.

"So, how was telling David to own up to the fact that he kissed you five nights ago?" Emma tells her before bringing the top of her beer bottle against her lips. She sneaks a look at Killian and finds him in an animated conversation with a shorter, plumper guy wearing a knitted red cap. Emma quickly averts her gaze when his eyes meet hers.

"That's not fair! That's not even in the same category Emma." Mary Margaret huffs, bringing Emma back to reality.

"Well it's much more important than me talking to Killian Jones." Emma responds earnestly.

"He has a name!" At the mention of his name, the slightly inebriated Mary Margaret gasps and claps her hands excitedly.

"Yes, but that's not important. I'd rather we talk about you, Mags."

"Well I don't want to talk about me or David. I want to talk about you and the fact that that beautiful man has his eyes set on you."

"He has not." Emma says quietly. She'd rather run, she'd rather make herself believe that no one has the remotest interest in her than to open herself up to hope.

"Emma, you have to open up!" Mary Margaret stomps her foot, not the first time she reminds Emma of a stubborn toddler.

"Last time I opened up, things didn't exactly turn out well." Emma shakes her head sadly.

"Not every guy is going to be like Neal, you know." Mary Margaret's hand is cupping the side of Emma's face, big hopeful blue eyes meeting her terrified green.

"I know that…I'm just not ready. I'm just not." Emma responds softly, small, the voice of a terrified child.

"I think you should give it a shot. Promise me you'll think about it." Mary Margaret drops her hand and takes Emma's in her own. Her voice is encouraging, almost maternal.

"I don't know…"

"Promise, Emma."

"Fine, I promise."

* * *

"Emma Swan!" Killian's voice booms behind her. Emma turns towards him, her eyes wide open. It's a good three hours later and the party shows no signs of dwindling down.

"Yes?" She responded carefully, feeling the gaze of more than one person around her on her and an intense sense of discomfort enveloping her.

"I've had a wonderful idea." He sways over to her, looking more and more like a pirate than ever. He even holds a bottle of rum on his right hand.

"Enlighten me." She says, not being able to help the smile creeping into her face.

"How's about you and I have a romantic night on the town, say next Friday?" He asks flirtatiously, a wide and satisfied grin plastered on his face.

"I'd say you're drunk and not possibly serious." Emma scoffs.

"Oh, I'm not serious? Emma Swan, I'm incredibly serious."

"Prove it." Emma says defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"As you wish." Killian thrusts the bottle of rum onto her to hold on to and next thing Emma knows he's standing on a couch towering over the entire party. "Oi, Smee! Turn that music down!"

_Oh, no._ Emma thinks as the music comes to an abrupt halt and all eyes turn to Killian. She turns her head back to Mary Margaret whose mouth is open wide.

"Can I have your attention, please?" Killian starts loudly, "this beautiful woman over here does not believe that I am serious about wanting to take her out on a date."

"Killian get down!" Emma hisses.

"I'm afraid I cannot get down until you agree to going out with me, Swan." He smiles apologetically at her, like all of this is out of his control. She could kill him.

"Fine! Just get down!" she says.

"I'm sorry? I couldn't quite hear that." She's definitely going to kill him.

"Yes. I'll go out with you!" Emma says loudly. Killian grins and jumps down, but not before motioning to have the music turned up again.

"I'm going to kill you." She tells him.

"Promises, promises, Swan."

* * *

_2014_

In her office, Emma cannot stop staring at the picture of her, Mary Margaret, and David back at a stupid costume party in Ireland. Memories had brought her back to that night, the night she met Killian for the first time. She remembers Mary Margaret getting sick quickly after Killian asked her out and David rushing to her rescue. He brought her back home that night and took care of her. Mary Margaret insisted Emma keep hanging out with Killian. Emma guesses it worked out well for the both of them, Killian had walked her back to her dorm and Mary Margaret passed out leaning against David.

Speaking of Killian, Emma hasn't seen him for a little more than two weeks. He's messaged her a couple of times and she's responded. She appreciates that nothing he says alludes to the night of Mary Margaret's and David's wedding. He asks her how she's been and sends her funny pictures. He never asks her to meet up or constantly smothers her with incessant messages. They've kept their conversations cordial, short, and infrequent. Emma hadn't had a chance to figure out if she was going to tell Walsh or not, given that he hasn't been home either. When Emma arrived from Storybrooke, the apartment was as empty and dark as it had ever been. With no Mary Margaret and no David to keep her company outside of work, Emma has just turned all her focus on her job. Royal Communications Media was finally signing a merger with a small advertising firm today and all heads of department had to be present at the meeting. Regina Mills, the CEO, had sent out the memo weeks ago but Emma had almost forgotten about it, her mind having been fogged by Killian, Walsh, and a general unshakeable feeling of unhappiness.

Emma walks down to the elevators and heads down to the company meeting room. Royal Communications Media was a conglomerate company that specialized on every outlet of media communications, marketing, advertising, publicity, digital and print media. You name it, they had it. Today, however, they were acquiring a small, albeit highly profitable with high profile clients, local advertising firm and naming a new creative director.

Emma sits in her usual chair and just twirls her rings slowly, as the other heads of department chatted their way about figures, demographics, and the importance of the right font. The only time she pays attention is when one of the assistants asks her what she'd like to drink and places her usual everything bagel and cream cheese in front of her. Emma mutters a thank you and becomes completely engrossed in slathering the right amount of cream cheese on her bagel. During this time, the meeting has begun and Regina talks about the decision about the merger and shows the prolonged statistics of assured success that the company can expect due to this acquisition.

The meeting goes on forever, or so it seems. Emma hasn't been paying attention at all. She is seated in the far back of the room, strategically closer to the exit. She's been playing a candy crushing game on her phone for about ten minutes when a message from Killian pops up on her screen.

You know, you should really be paying more attention. This is fascinating stuff.

Emma's eyes open wide as she slowly lifts her head up and starts to take a look around the room, frantically trying to find him in the darkened room. When she does, she realizes Killian has been seating next to Regina the entire time. He seems like he's looking intently at the figures on the screen, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. Emma wonders how long had he been sitting there and more importantly _why_ was he sitting there. Suddenly the entire room lights up, marking the end of the presentation. Emma squints and blinks her eyes slowly so as to get accustomed to the brighter room. When her eyes have finally adjusted, she sees that Regina has stood up again and is facing them.

"We are so happy to be able to include these amazing figures and clients into the Royal Media Communications' family. And it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Killian Jones, our new creative director for Jolly Roger Advertising." _Oh_, Emma thinks, _that's why_.

Regina motions to him and he stands up. Emma tries to ignore the jolt her stomach does at the sight of him. He looks around confidently at the room, and sets his eyes not on the back of the wall like Regina usually does, but directly onto Emma's eyes.

"Thank you, Regina. It is honestly such a pleasure to be on board such a magnificent company and I cannot wait to work with you all. This is an incredible opportunity, thank you." Emma hasn't noticed that she had been holding her breath the entire time he spoke to her. Well, to be fair it was to the entire room, but that's a nuance. The meeting is over then and most of the group gathers around Killian to shake his hand and introduce themselves to him. Emma, however, decides to slip out and waits outside. The room dissipates quickly until finally, Killian walks out.

"Ah, Swan. I was starting to feel disappointed that you hadn't come to introduce yourself." He tells her, grinning widely. Emma doesn't want to think about the uneasiness that has set camp in her stomach, nor does she want to think about how incredibly handsome he looks in his tailored navy blue suit.

"What are you doing here?" she blurts out and she wishes she didn't sound like such a frantic spaz.

"Same as you, naturally. I work here now." He responds calmly, a hint of humor in his tone.

"In the company I work at?" She hisses incredulously.

"To be fair, I didn't know you worked here, love." He smiles at her and Emma wishes her heart would calm down.

"Yeah, okay." Emma scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"Emma, relax." He says and places one of his hands on her shoulder, making Emma have an instant reminder of how good his touch felt on her bare skin. "I didn't come here to sweep you off your feet or anything of the sort. This was an incredible opportunity and I took it. As simple as that." He gives her a rueful smile and drops his hand from her shoulder.

Emma wonders if his heart is racing just as fast as hers is, if he can feel the heat radiating from her stomach. She wants to desperately talk about that night. Hell, she wouldn't even mind recreating that night. She wonders if he feels the same as her, just as lonely, just as terrified, just as desperate. He must, she concludes, because all of a sudden she can feel that he's inched closer to her, that his gaze lingered a millisecond too long on her lips, and when her eyes met him they were wide and all those feelings were clearly sketched in them.

"We should have lunch." He said quietly and she nods.

"Or dinner." She offers, standing up on her tiptoes. "I think it's time we talked." Killian nods.

"You think your husband can spare you?" His fingers lightly graze hers.

"I honestly don't think he'd notice." She says before turning away and walking down the corridor and catching the elevator up to her floor. Killian had said that he wasn't here to sweep her off her feet, and she's fine with that, but she can't shake the feeling that that's already happened, that she had already dug her own grave, and that there was nothing stopping her from going further down the rabbit hole.


	7. Chapter 6

_AN: I AM SO BEYOND SORRY THAT THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG! Thank you guys for the support and awesome reviews, I just started law school this week and I moved to my new place two weeks ago so it's been a hell of a couple of weeks. I don't know how often I'll be able to update because I have a mountain of homework every day, but please know that I am always thinking of writing this story and I'll try to have the next installment in a couple of weeks I promise!_

* * *

Chapter 6

2006

Emma can feel his eyes on her from across the library. She bites her lip as she takes a glance at him and finds him looking away almost instantly, embarrassed and caught in the act. Emma shakes her head and rubs the length of her forearm, trying to rid herself of the sensation that was brought upon by her hairs standing on edge.

"You two are ridiculous." David says as he highlights something in his textbook and shakes his head.

"What are you talking about?" Emma huffs. "There's nothing between us."

"Oh, cut it out. You two have been eye-fucking each other since last week's party." David laughs, pointing an accusatory highlighter at Emma.

"Even more so ever since your date two nights ago." Mary Margaret adds.

"We're not _eye-fucking_ David. And you…" she says giving Mary Margaret a slight shove on her shoulder, "aren't helping."

"We just want to see you happy Emma. You've opened up to us, why not him?" Mary Margaret offers defensively.

"Yeah, and if you're not willing to do that, get some of that sexual tension out of the way at least." David laughs, he's in a much more lighter mood nowadays. He had gotten into a discussion with Kathryn a few days ago and she ended up calling it quits. David was relieved to say the least, but still hadn't tried to pursue anything with Mary Margaret.

Emma knew that David was right, both he and Mary Margaret were right actually. But David had hit the nail on the head much more so than Mary Margaret had. Two nights ago Emma and Killian had gone out on their date. And it had been a hell of a date and their chemistry was undeniable. Emma felt like Killian understood her on a deeper level than anyone else had. She couldn't put a finger on what it was, but somehow she felt like Killian had also known pain and loss. Maybe his ordeal wasn't at the same level as Emma's, but she knew that whatever had happened to him was monumental enough to have shaped his character. In the few hours that she spent with him Emma felt like she was not in the company that of someone whose purpose was to fix her, but rather someone who was willing to accept her flaws and all. Or so she hoped, anyways.

Emma knew that he was looking at her again and she would give anything to feel his lips on hers again, rather than be studying for her sociology midterm. After dinner on Friday, they had stopped at a pub on their way back and listened to some music. Two beers in they found themselves dancing amidst the dense and sweaty crowd, his hands on the small of her back, their bodies close together. Killian was definitely a total charmer, especially when they were back sitting in a booth in a dark secluded corner. He was whispering in her ear and making her laugh. After a while, Killian had suddenly gone quiet. Emma didn't know when he had started to play with her hair, but she didn't mind it at all.

"You are incredible, Swan." He said softly, his eyes sincere.

"I'm alright." She responded, feeling the blush creep up her neck in heated embarrassment. She is not the best at accepting compliments.

"You've gone red." He told her, giving her a small smile that reaches his eyes.

"I tend to do that when I'm embarrassed." She confided, the alcohol from the beers she had earlier acting like a truth serum.

"Why are you embarrassed?" He smiled wider and had started to trace circles with his index finger on the back of Emma's hand.

"Because I'm nervous." She decided to keep telling him the truth. Emma, usually a beacon of confidence, couldn't remember the last time she felt this nervous.

"Why are you nervous?" Emma could tell that he was really enjoying this, being the source of her unease. His face had inched closer to hers, she could see faint freckles on his cheeks as bright as day.

"Because you're really close to me and I've had an amazing time tonight." At this he inched even closer to her, his hand entangled once again in her long hair.

"Is this too close?" He asked her again, his hand having travelled to cup the side of her face.

"No, you're fine."

"How about this?" His lips by then were almost brushing hers and Emma's heart threatened to beat right out of her chest.

"Still okay." She breathed, knowing fully that if she were standing she would've collapsed on the floor already.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Emma Swan." He pulled away slightly and looks directly into her eyes, his look genuinely asking her permission. Emma sensed a shake in his breath as he told her that. Maybe he was just as nervous as she was.

"I honestly don't know what's taking you so long." She said as she tugged on his collar and pulled him closer to her, their lips touching for the first time.

Emma feels as if recollecting her memory of Friday night has her threatening to fall over the edge. If Killian keeps looking at her the way he's been looking at her for the past hour and doesn't do something about it soon, Emma knows she's bound to go insane. She desperately wants his lips against hers again, she wants more of him, and she knows he feels the same way. It takes her three more individual moments of squirming in her seat and attempts to ease down the hairs on her forearms for her to resolve to do something about her sexual frustration. She mumbles something about needing a book before standing up and heading to the back of the library, not before pausing slightly behind Killian and lightly dragging her fingers around his shoulders. She winks at him for a brief second as he looks up at her before she continues on to the back of the library. Halfway there, out of the corner of her eye she can see that he stood up a few seconds after she left and took the cue to follow her.

With his legs slightly longer than hers, he catches up to her in a matter of seconds, and his hand instinctively places itself on the small of her back. Emma can't seem to wipe the grin off her face, knowing full well how stupid it must look. Finally she reaches the last secluded corner of the library, full of old case files and research papers that barely anyone needs anymore, and she turns towards him, relieved to see that his smile matches the stupidity of hers.

"You summoned me, Swan?" He asks, raising one eyebrow at her and hooking his index finger inside a belt loop in her jeans, pulling her closer to him.

"Sure, if you want to call it that." She teases, while she stands up on her tiptoes.

"Care to tell me why you've made me follow you to the corner of the library that no one has stepped foot in since it's inception?" He asks her softly, his face dangerously close to hers.

"I'd rather just show you." She answers before pulling him by his collar and kissing him full on the lips. Emma thought that the moment their lips would meet she would satiate the hunger, the lust, the wanting she had for him. However, what she found was that with every second that his lips were on hers, the more she wanted them there, and the less satisfied she was. Emma is glad to see that Killian wants her as much as she wants him right now. He's pushing her against the bookcase and the metal digging into Emma's back but she doesn't care because his knee is thrust between her legs applying pressure to the area where she needs it most. His stubble is scratching her chin raw, but she wouldn't have it any other way. His hands are warm and comforting, goose bumps welcoming the warmth that follows having his hands grasp her waist underneath her sweatshirt. Killian then starts kissing her neck, making Emma moan a little too loud for what was appropriate. But who are they kidding? What's appropriate about making out in the back of the library during midterms? Still, Killian pulls back and shushes her, grinning while he covers her mouth with his hand and diving back into kissing her neck. Emma feels her knees weak, knowing fully that if Killian weren't sustaining her by pressing her up the bookcase she'd melt down on the floor. Emma feels his erection pressing up against her thigh, and dear God she wishes he could take her right then and there. It's been so long since she's been intimate with anyone and residual teenage hormones seem to still be swirling deep amongst her system.

Killian curses against her neck when he feels that Emma has ventured her hand down and is stroking him through the jean fabric. He'd take her then and there if she'd let him. His thoughts have been consumed with her presence for the last two days, especially after Friday night. He has been kissing her lips again for quite some time. To be honest, neither of them remembers how long it has been since they started or how long they've been away. Finally, they come up for air and look at each other intently for the first time during this whole exchange. It is unspoken, but somehow they both know that for the first time they'd be willing to open up again so long as it was with each other.

* * *

_2014 _

"What are you thinking about, Swan?" Killian asks her quietly in the dimly lit restaurant they were in. The restaurant is small and Italian and in the heart of the Meat Packing District, close to where Killian lives.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She answers with a smirk, looking down at the mess she's made on the table with her paper napkin lies now shredded. It's a horrible habit, really, something she picked up God knows when.

"Tell me." She looks up at him when he speaks again, his tone pleading and playful.

"Well, if you must know. I was thinking about that day we were supposed to be studying for midterms and ended up basically having sex in the library."

"Ah, yes. Didn't we scar Mary Margaret for life that day?" He gives a low, breathy laugh, remembering the incident well.

"I think she said something much more dramatic, but yes that sounds about right." She concedes and is quiet again.

"You know, you're the one that ever calls me Swan anymore." She says after a while, once her plate is placed in front of her. She rests against the booth and brings the glass of wine back to her lips.

"Old habits die hard, love. Plus it has a better ring on your name than Walter's." He tells her simply, grinning widely at her.

"Walsh." She corrects him automatically. She later realizes that she doesn't care what he calls her husband. She's already been intimate with Killian and she wants to be again. She's definitely not in love with Walsh anymore. So, what does that make her and Killian? They were more than coworkers, obviously, and undoubtedly more than friends. However, were they going to put a label on it, or was he even going to agree to seeing her like this?

"I don't care." He shrugs back at her, smiling, and bringing his beer bottle back to his lips and taking a swig.

"So, I guess we should discuss whatever this is." She offers, attempting to get the conversation flowing.

"Let's just have dinner right now, love. Plenty of time to catch up later." He tells her sincerely before taking a hold of her hand and giving it a light squeeze.

"Okay."

* * *

Once they've had dinner they find themselves on their way to Killian's apartment. Killian tells her that it's only a ten-minute walk and that he'd rather talk to her about this in private. Emma wants to desperately hold his hand and she's sure that Killian does too. The back of his hand has been ghosting around the back of hers, almost touching but not quite. Every time it happens Emma looks up at him, causing him to defiantly look straight ahead but also causing a wide smirk to appear on his face. She smiles to herself. She knows that she shouldn't feel this happy, this fulfilled, and this complete when she's with Killian, but she does. Walsh is not present in her mind whenever she's with Killian, and as a matter a fact nothing else really is either. When she's with Killian she feels as if they're the only two souls in the world, the only two people in Manhattan or anywhere else. They haven't agreed on anything yet, but the way he looks at her is enough for Emma to feel a sense of happiness she hasn't felt in ages. She feels completely comfortable and content just by walking next to him, no need to talk or fill the empty space between them with longing touches or empty words. Killian's company is more than enough for her, and that's something she hasn't let herself open up to in months and maybe even years.

They finally arrive at his building. Emma shoves her hands inside her pockets and swings on the balls of her feet for a few seconds as he unlocks the front door. There's no denying that this building used to be a warehouse of some sort back in the day, the inlaid red bricks on the wall are dated and scratched in some places. Emma takes in the vast difference of his place to hers. Her building and apartment are sleek, minimal, and off-white in color. Whereas his is rustic, industrial, vibrant colors in the wall, it's completely Killian in every sense of the word. Emma cannot stop the grin from spreading widely when Killian takes hold of her hand inside of the elevator. As he squeezes it, she feels like her heart threatens to beat out of her chest any moment.

They arrive at his loft and Emma is taken aback by the juxtaposition of the industrial brick and the sleek, stainless steel kitchen equipment and modern interior. It's what she always imagined her place would look like.

"Wow." she breathes taking in the surroundings. He had acquired what looked like an original Jackson Pollock and some vintage metal signs. On the corner he had a laser cutter and books that specialized in typefaces, advertising, and design.

"Do you like it?" he asks with a small smile.

"I love it. It's incredible." Emma grins back.

"Do you want something to drink? Beer? Wine? Water?" He asks after mumbling his thanks.

"Water is fine." Emma responds and as he walks away, she starts to look at the pictures over his mantelpiece. She's surprised to see that she's in one of them, not by herself, but alongside Mary Margaret, David, and Killian. She sees a picture of his parents, and of his late brother Liam, and then she sees a picture of a woman she doesn't recognize. She's beautiful, Emma concludes, with high cheekbones, long dark brown hair, and pale blue eyes.

She feels Killian's gaze on her and she turns towards him. He offers her a glass of water and she takes it gratefully. She can see that Killian is tense, his eyes dark and clouded by an emotion she cannot decipher. Whoever that woman was, Emma knows better than to ask him about it, so she sits down on the couch and beckons him to sit next to her.

When he does she places her glass on the coffee table and cups his face instead, kissing him lightly on the lips. He kisses her back, hand buried in her long blonde hair. Emma feels herself getting flustered, heat radiating from her stomach. This is the first time they kiss since the wedding, and she needs more. She cannot fathom what has gotten into her or why she cannot control herself around him, but she's blaming her blatant lack of affection and her desperate need for it. She tries to deepen the kiss, but he doesn't let her, frustrating her to no end. Emma is insistent, biting his lip, even trying to part his lips with her tongue but Killian won't budge.

She pulls back with a pout, clearly upset with his lack of response. She crosses her arms across her chest and slumps down against the sofa. Killian presses his head against her shoulder, nuzzling it up into the crook of her neck.

"What, love?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"What do you mean 'what'? You don't want to kiss me." Emma huffs, her pout unbeknownst to her protruding further.

"Yes I do." Killian tells her defiantly.

"Your lack of enthusiasm would convince anyone otherwise." Emma says quietly. She really is more embarrassed than she is hurt by this whole exchange.

"I'm sorry." He tells her sincerely, but Emma is too embarrassed to even look at him and test out her lie detector magic.

"I thought you wanted me." It kills Emma to say these words. Even after all these years, admitting that she craved affection and wasn't the unabashed loner she set out to portray caused her discomfort. The fact that she's here at Killian's apartment is a huge deal in itself, let alone the fact that she's more than willing to be swept of her feet by him.

"I do! Emma, love. I do want you. I just-" His voice trails off.

"You just what?"

"I just want to do this right." He responds shyly, blue eyes locking with hers. "You know, I want to properly court you, Swan." He's back to his original impertinence, grinning cockily at her and throwing a wink for good measure.

Emma laughs. "How exactly do you properly court a married woman, Killian?"

"I'll figure it out. But first, we need to figure out what all this is." He tells her, grinning and motioning between them.

"I believe it's called an affair." Emma says matter of fact.

"We both know it's more than that, Emma." Killian responds softly, his hand covering Emma's and squeezing it lightly.

"Are you saying you figured out the reason why we were so adamant and willing to jump in bed together?"

"I'm pretty sure I have."

"And?"

"It's clear, isn't it? We were both desperately craving attention and affection."

"Well I know I was…but you? What happened to _you_?"

Killian sobers up quickly and he's quiet for what seems like an eternity. Emma knows how hard it is to open up, how hard it is to let one in and know your pain. Killian talked about craving affection in such a passionate way that it resonated deep within her. Emma wanted to get the ball rolling and make him start talking. She wanted to help him, heal him, and comfort him in ways beyond sexual satisfaction. It really astonishes her how easy it has been to fall back into such a comfortable pattern with him, how her walls have slowly started to come down barely without any difficulty, and how when she is with him time seems to stop.

"Is it her?" she asks somberly, fully knowing that for her picture to be next to Liam's it meant that whomever this woman was, she was important to Killian.

Killian simply nods his head, staring straight towards the picture and taking a moment to finish off the last of his beer. A sense of unease fills Emma's entire body, if this woman is so important to make Killian completely shut down, what on earth happened? And more importantly, could she ever compare? True, they had a past together, but that was simply one year abroad. Back then they were young and they were foolish, and after she left letters were less frequent, time difference hindered, and their relationship just withered away like flowers do in the winter.

"Who is she?" she asks, her voice shy and small.

"She's my wife." He says stoically, rolling the empty beer bottle's neck between his palms.

"You're married?" Emma wishes she hadn't sound so incredulous. She also wishes that a pang of jealousy hadn't taken over her system. After all, she's married too.

"I was." He responds in the same bland, stoic voice and stands up, walking towards the picture.

"Divorce?" Emma asks, still sitting on the couch.

"Widow, actually." Killian responds, looking at her and giving her a rueful smile. A smile that told Emma that he had accepted the fact that his wife was gone, but that he still hadn't gotten over it. _I'm not sure you ever do, _Emma thought.

"She was beautiful."

"Aye, she was something. Met her a little after the time when we called it quits. She saved me." That last part he says to himself, his voice grateful.

"Is that why you moved here, because she's gone?"

"In part, I just couldn't bear it anymore. Too many memories."

"Do you mind if I ask how it happened? How she…" Emma couldn't bring herself to finish the question; she had never known loss in this way.

"How she died?"

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me, I don't mean to be intruding."

"It's alright, Swan. I'm used to answering it." Or so he wanted himself to believe. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure before he continued. "She died of a pregnancy complication."

Emma is at a loss for words, not only had Killian lost his wife, but he had also lost his future child. He begins to tell her the entire story. How he had met Milah, his wife, a year after he had returned to England after being in Dublin. He told her how madly they both fell for each other and how they were eventually married. He told her how hey were married for three years when Milah finally became pregnant with what would've been their first child. He told her how overjoyed he had been and how they had gone through all the motions, when on the sixth month of her pregnancy Milah started bleeding profusely and had to be taken to the hospital. Killian said he had never been so terrified in his life, how the doctor didn't give much hope to either the Milah or his child. He tells her how the doctor had said that they had to deliver he child but that there was a fifty percent chance that Milah, or the child, or both, wouldn't make it. He tells her how during the emergency C-section he lost Milah, but the child managed to survive. He tells her that he never got to hold his baby girl, how she was hooked on tubes for two weeks, so frail and so small, until she too passed away.

There are tears in Emma's eyes. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to go through such an ordeal. To find your true love, and to find your happiness only to have it all snatched away from you in a blink of an eye. She stands up, goes over to him, and hugs him fiercely.

"I'm so sorry, Killian." She says against his shoulder, her voice muffled.

"It's alright, love. It's been four years; I've made my peace with it." He tells her, giving her a reassuring grin. He circles his hands against her waist and holds her close, pressing his lips to her forehead.

* * *

"I don't want to leave." She confides later on, lying on his bed. They've been lying there for a good two hours, fully clothed, taking turns between talking and kissing, both continuously on the brink of falling asleep.

"Then don't." He responds tightening his grip around her waist, molding his body to hers. His face was resting in the crook of her neck, his arms were draped around her middle, his knees pressed up to the back of hers, and their legs intertwined.

"I'm tired of existing, of being unhappy. I want to _live_."

"Then let's live."


	8. Chapter 7

_AN: Hey! So law school is awful and so time consuming but here's the newest chapter! I'm trying really hard to not lose my mind, and writing this keeps me sane so yeah, I'm definitely trying to get these out as fast and as perfectly as I can. Thanks again for all your lovely support and I hope you like this flufflyflufffluff chapter filled with fluff and sexy stuff. -Steph_

* * *

Chapter 7

2007

The Sunday morning light falls faintly on Emma's face, making her stir slowly out of sleep. Killian's arm is lazily draped around her middle, his body pressed against hers in the intimate twin sized dorm bed. It's January now, and barely three months have passed since they started seeing each other.

It's early, probably not even seven yet, and Emma takes a moment to look at Killian. She loves looking at him; she concluded that ages ago, and she particularly likes watching him when he sleeps. Not creepily or anything, she just finds herself looking at him from time to time, a small smile gracing her face as his chest rises up and down methodically, his features calm and content with no worry in the world. She nuzzles her face against his chest, hugging him closer and she thinks about how far they've come along since October. How fast and juvenile they were at first, but how wonderful it has been to fall into this pattern of, dare she say it, love.

They haven't said anything yet, but they know. Somehow along the way from October till now, they fell into this relationship without either of them realizing it. She vividly remembers the carnal and zealous relationship they started out with. It was needy, drunken, and hungry. Like coming home from a night out, almost at the point of passing out but still wired from the events that had happened, still drunk with the emotions felt, and still craving the touch of another. She remembers fooling around almost every night, each time pushing the envelope further. She remembers making out for hours, touching each other for the first time, and her legs shaking uncontrollably the first time he went down on her. She remembers his laugh as he kissed her and told her to relax, that everything was going to be okay.

She can pinpoint falling for him last week during Winter Break, when David and Mary Margaret had gone home. Emma had plans to stay because she had no home to go back to. Killian took her to his, instead, and they were intimate there for the first time. It was quick and hidden, and they were a little drunk from the Christmas punch being served at the party downstairs. He had pressed her up against the wall of his bedroom, hoisted up her skirt, and pushed her underwear to the side. Emma wishes she could say that it was amazing, but the moment was short-lived and kind of fleeting. They haven't tried again since. Emma knows it'll get better, though. Once they're actually on a bed and without fear of any family interruptions. She's positive.

"Swan, why in bloody hell are you awake?" Killian's groggy voice asks above her. She hears his voice reverberate from deep inside his chest.

"I can't sleep, the sun's in my eye." She nuzzles her face into his chest, her voice coming out small and muffled. She wants to tell him that she loves him, but the words can't seem to come out.

She loves him. She can't deny that she does, she can't lie to herself about it anymore. She loves the special grin that he reserves for her. It's wicked, sly, and mischievous. She loves the way his voice says her name so soft, pleading, and hopeful. She loves the way he makes her laugh and the way his eyes light up when she does. She loves how she feels like she can lose herself completely in his company and feel like she's found a place were she belongs. Right now, right here, in his arms she feels more at home than she ever has anywhere else. It terrifies her but excites her at the same time.

He shifts under her, rubbing his eyes and sloppily moving over her. He makes to the window and pulls the curtain shut, climbing into bed after doing so.

"Now go back to sleep, you insane woman." He grumbles, taking her spot in the bed as she scoots back towards the wall.

Every time Emma looks at him, she feels the words threatening to slip out. Should she just say it? Should she wait for him to say it first? God, she's so bad at this. She never felt this for Neal. Well, maybe she did, but never with this intensity. She's terrified. She should just say it.

"Emma, you're staring at me." He tells her, eyes closed and a smile creeping on his face.

She apologizes, not realizing that she had been looking at him all this time. Killian opens his eyes and looks at her quizzically. He notices her furrowed brow and her teeth biting down on her bottom lip.

"Love, are you alright?" he asks, propping his head up with his hand. Emma smiles at him and nods her head.

"I don't believe you." He says simply. Emma rolls her eyes at him and tugs at his shirt collar. She kisses him, a soft, simple kiss.

"I'm fine. I promise." She tells him earnestly as she pulls away. Killian cups her face with his hand, smiling at her with his mouth slightly open, his eyes locked on hers. He stares into her eyes for what seems like forever. There's so much love pouring out from his gaze that Emma just _knows._

"I love you." she breathes, looking intently at him.

"I love _you_." He lets out a shaky breath and smiles at her, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She grins at him, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders.

Killian pulls her in for a kiss slowly and tentatively. His hand cradles the back of her neck as he pulls her lower lip between his. Emma feels his hand shake behind her, but it stops when he lays her head down and starts kissing her deeply. Every time he breaks he tells her that he loves her and she tells him the same. She has never felt like this before and she wants the whole world to know how she feels. How she, Emma Swan, once a lost girl, has found her home in the very arms of another.

Killian moves methodically on her body, whatever happened in his room during break was nowhere to be found on this early Sunday morning. Every single nerve in Emma's body was waking up to his touch. She was waking up to his lips sucking lightly on her neck and to his hand ghosting around the thin fabric covering her breasts, fingers nimbly making their way arousing her deep down to her core. She feels his laughter against her collarbone after she moans rather loudly. He kisses his way back up through her neck, her jaw, and back to her mouth. Emma has been grinding against his leg for a while now, trying desperately to achieve some pressure against her center. Killian, sensing this, immediately thrusts up his knee in between her legs, his noticeable erection pressing against her hip. Emma's hand travels inside of his boxers and grabs a hold of him, making Killian audibly groan against her lips. He stills on top of her while she starts moving her hand up and down his length. He throws his head back, a slight smile forming on his parted mouth. Emma loves the friction between them, the electricity they share.

Killian begs her to stop, but she doesn't concede. Instead she sloppily and kind of ungracefully scoots further down the bed and replaces her hand with her mouth instead. A string of curses leaves Killian's lips, his hands digging into her hair guiding her mouth along his length. She keeps at it for a couple of more minutes until he pulls her back up to him and guides her face to his, index finger under her chin till her lips reach his.

Kissing her, he grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off when their lips break for a split second. Shirt discarded and tossed to the other side of the room, Killian hugs her naked body against his, his face burrowed in her chest. He kisses her collarbone and lightly pulls her down to his side. Emma begs him to be inside her, she wants him, she needs him. Killian concedes and at once he's on top of her, moving inside her, filling her up exactly the way she needed.

Emma feels like she's going to burst from every single pore, pleasure is filling her up like it hadn't in months. He starts slow, moving in and out of her painfully slow and methodical. She wants more, she needs more, and she must have said that out loud because he grins at her and lets out a silent laugh and starts moving faster. He takes her legs and spreads them widely, moving in deeper. Emma feels like she might die from the way he's making her feel, it's almost an out of body experience. She feels her orgasm building inside of her and slips her hand between them, starting to rub her fingers against her clit.

Fuck, he tells her, that's so hot. He tells her that she feels incredible, that she's so tight, and every other string of curses and exclamations he could think of. Emma likes that he's vocal, she loves it actually. Once Killian decides to move at the same time he's lightly biting on her nipple, Emma feels her orgasm building even more, her breaths start getting shallow. He starts sucking on her neck and she's moaning and squirming beneath him. He nods into her neck, coaxing her release, moving harder and deeper into her until she finally screams out and stills underneath him. He comes a few seconds after that, still telling her how incredible it was, kissing her everywhere and anywhere his lips can reach.

* * *

2014

Emma can hardly believe how happy she has been in the past couple of months and she knows that the source of her happiness is Killian. She feels like a kid again, selfishly and immeasurably in love.

She's in love with Killian.

She has fallen for him just as fast and hard as she did almost nine years ago. And though she knows that she should feel guilty of sneaking around, guilty of being adulterous, guilty of being in love with a man that's not her husband, at the end of the day she simply doesn't. Emma had turned a blind eye to Walsh's late nights, secretive phone calls, nights spent sleeping in the office, and the constant presence of his campaign manager, Zelena, for months before Killian had come back into her life. Emma was not stupid and she certainly was not born yesterday. Emma knew there had to be a reason for Walsh to lose interest in her just as quickly as he had gained interest when they first met.

For months before, during, and after his reelection campaign, Emma strived to regain contact with her husband. She became desperate, desolate, and even thought about faking a pregnancy to regain the close relationship she had with Walsh once before. She spent her nights waiting up for him, homemade dinners left forgotten and cold on the stove. Emma tried everything, she looked into marriage counseling and she even spent an unspeakable amount of money on every sort of lingerie available, but nothing worked. Even when Walsh was at their apartment, Emma felt lonelier in his presence than whenever he was out. At benefits and parties regarding his work, Emma would spend hours getting ready only to be left unattended at the venue, Walsh nowhere to be found. Even during times where he was found, Walsh would sneak into his office always trying to get extra work done. Funny, Emma always thought, how Zelena would always be with him in the escapades in question.

Tired of him denying her "constant inquisition", (as he called the occasions whenever Emma brought up her discomfort with his constant disinterest), and tired of him denying her requests for a separation or divorce once she attempted to bring them up, Emma turned to her work, crying at the end of every day, drinking copious amounts of cheap chardonnay every night, and dinner at the Charmings' every week. Emma became incredibly depressed, rarely finding a reason to get out of bed every morning. Emma thought about trying to give her love to a pet, but the beta fish she bought died after two weeks. In her defense, she maintains that the fish was sick when she bought it for two dollars. In reality, she fed it every other day.

Around this time last year, Emma felt like dying. She felt like a bird with clipped wings, stuck in a cage and with no means to get out. But ever since Killian has come into her life, she has felt alive and wanted.

She loves him. She loves how she gets to see him almost every day, how he'll find an excuse to drop by her office and how she'll do the same to drop by his. She loves how he'll invite her over his place to cook for her, or attempt to anyways, and end up making love all night long. She loves how they are together, how well they fit.

* * *

Tonight there is a gathering at the Charmings', a housewarming party. Mary Margaret and David had moved out of their one bedroom apartment near Columbus Circle and had just finished moving into their new townhouse on Gramercy Park, a house that had been in Mary Margaret's family for generations and that her parents bequeathed her and David as a wedding present. This will be the first outing that Emma and Killian attend after they started fooling around. Naturally, they've kept their romantic endeavor to each other, but it's not stopping tonight from being a nerve-wracking experience.

They've been messaging each other all afternoon, with him telling her all he wishes he could do to her, trying to convince her to skip the party and go over to his place instead so they could make love all night. It had been a hectic couple of weeks at Royal Communications Media, Emma's department was getting ready to launch their marketing campaign for the latest dystopian teen movie that was coming out early next year and Killian's department was busy getting all the creative promotion together for the same movie. They mostly saw each other at work, and overlooking the rare shove into a broom closet inside of their respective offices and those unsuccessful attempts at physical interaction, they hadn't been together in over two weeks. Walsh had been in town as well to take a break from campaigning, and though he was rarely home as usual, Emma felt like she couldn't risk it.

Despite Killian's protests, Emma insisted and succeeded in having him attend the party. She might have bribed him with a promise to stay overnight at his place, something she never does, but that is beside the question. The invitation said to arrive at 7:30, but Emma gets there early to help set up. Killian arrives a little ways later, wearing fitting steel gray pants, matching steel gray jacket, and a crisp periwinkle shirt with a black tie. His hair is damp and swept back, his beard growing in nicely, beyond his usual stubble, and his eyes more piercing than ever. Emma feels her breath catch in her throat the moment he steps in the kitchen and hands her a bottle of scotch he brought as a gift. Their fingers graze each other's as he hands her the bottle, Emma tries to hide the jolt his touch provoked in her. He smiles at her and asks her how she is, as if he didn't know that all Emma wants to do is push him up against a wall and have her way with him.

She really thought he was going to be the troublesome one tonight, but it appears that she's the one who's going to have to keep her longing under control.

"I'm great. How are you? How's work treating you?" She hates that she has to fake idle conversation. She knows how work is treating him, the third installment of the dystopian movie is driving them both up a wall.

"I'm wonderful. Finding innovative creative ways to promote yet another post-apocalyptic movie is quite tiresome." Emma lets out a forced laugh, they've had this conversation before over Chinese takeout back at RCM's board rooms.

They look at each other, trying to hide the smiles that threaten to come out. They're both so bad at this it's a wonder they haven't been caught yet. Emma turns back to take out the crescent rolls out of the oven and place them in a basket.

"How's Walter? Is he here tonight?" Killian asks, a second attempt at conversation.

"You mean Walsh? No, he couldn't make it. He's really sorry though, campaigning has taken up most of his time." She answers, directing the second half of the sentence at Mary Margaret and David.

"Is he not in Manhattan tonight?" Mary Margaret asks concernedly.

"No, he's on his way to Ithaca and upstate, he has some rally's there this week." Emma responds, waving her hand dismissively at the question.

"How come you're not up there with him? Emma if you have to do your senator wife duties, you know we understand." David tells her sincerely. Two years ago Emma had done that very same campaign trail when Walsh was up for reelection.

"Are you kidding? I'm swamped with coming up with marketing plans for two movies, and a television show." She says between laughs, as if that's the most ridiculous thing she's heard all night.

"Come on, mate. You know Swan isn't one to stand in the sidelines to watch her husband kiss babies, give away washing machines to older folks, and secure votes in any way possible." Killian tells David, a little bit of an edge to his voice.

"Exactly." Emma concedes. "That's just not me."

* * *

People start to trickle into the party around eight and it begins to get so crowded that Emma finally feels like she's not in anyone's line of attention anymore. Killian and she have barely talked to each other all night. He's been occupied with David and some other men talking about work, sports, and HBO shows. You know, the usual. He steals glances at her whenever she's in the room though. His glances are so natural and so often you'd think it was a reflex that he has no control over. Emma loves every second of it, though. She loves that he can't help but to look at her.

Once she leaves the room and goes out to the empty balcony overlooking Gramercy Park, her phone vibrates against her hand and she sees that she's received a message from him. A wide, silly grin forms on her face when she reads it. He simply told her that he thought she looked absolutely stunning in the red dress she was wearing. He follows up the message with another one that states that he can't wait to take it off later tonight.

"What are you smiling about?" Mary Margaret chimes in questioningly, joining Emma in the balcony.

"It's nothing." Emma smiles at her, tucking her phone back into her pocket. Her dress has pockets, regardless of how good it looks on her; the pockets were definitely the main selling point for her.

"You seem happier, Em. Have you fixed things with Walsh?" Mary Margaret asks hopeful.

"Not at all. I'm highly thinking about divorcing him after his campaign is over." Emma snorts.

"Oh, my _god_. It's that serious? Why hadn't you told me? Are you going to be okay? You're not even going to try to work it out?" Mary Margaret is genuinely preoccupied for her friend. Mostly because of how nonchalantly Emma throws out the word 'divorce'.

"Mary Margaret, I'm done trying to work things out with him. I don't want to be with a person who makes me feel like I need to beg for attention, a person who makes me feel like whatever I do is just not enough for him to throw me some scrap of love my way. I'm done. I fell out of love with him and I don't plan on staying in this situation anymore." Emma tells her, fighting back tears threatening to fall down. Despite the fact that she's no longer in love with Walsh, the fact that he made her feel like she couldn't make the marriage work out will always stay with her as just another failed attempt at creating a bond with another person.

Mary Margaret squeezes Emma's hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

"It's going to be okay, Emma. I know it will. Just remember that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. You'll get yours." She finishes by mentioning that she should probably go back to the party and walks back into her new home, leaving Emma in the balcony.

* * *

"Swan, what are you doing out here? It's absolutely freezing, you're going to catch your death." Killian says while entering the balcony. He shrugs off his suit jacket and places it around Emma's shoulder.

"I was just thinking." She tells him, hugging the jacket closer to her and murmuring her thanks.

"About what, love?" He asks, a small smile gracing his lips as he unconsciously fixes her long hair around the jacket's collar.

"Just something that Mary Margaret told me." She knows they probably shouldn't be standing as close to each other as they currently are.

"And what might that be?" he asks softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"That believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing." Emma responds, bringing up her hand to cover his.

"Quite the optimistic lass, isn't she?"

"Absolutely, but she's right." She nods, burying her face in his hand and kissing the palm of it. They need to stop this, they're too out in the open, and anyone can see them.

"How so?" He's enthralled, positively mesmerized by every word she's saying. There's no one else in the world right now, only Emma.

"I just can't help but feel like everything is starting to look up." She answers, letting go of his hand and going over to lean over the railing.

"What do you mean?" He asks, standing next to her, his back against the railing.

"It's just that, ever since we started to do this," she motions between them, "I can't help but feel like I have a shot at true happiness." Killian raises his eyebrows, a cocky grin directed at her.

"Are you saying I'm your happy ending, Swan?" He's obviously having too much fun with this, the possibility of Emma wanting so much more with him.

"No, I'm just saying that you are the reason I'm getting a happy ending."

"So you're using me?" He teases, turning on the snarky Killian Jones persona. He has inched closer to her once again, all Emma wants to do is to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.

"Not at all. You're saving me." Emma tells him seriously, trying to not give away her thoughts.

"I thought you said I was a pirate that stole your heart." He says quietly, almost whispering it into her ear.

"You're a hero, too." She answers, deciding to look intently at Gramercy Park so as to not be tempted to any of her thoughts regarding Killian.

They stay silent for a while, Killian's fingers ghosting around hers, never fully touching but enough to know that is his intention. Emma turns away from the view of the park and turns to look at him.

"What would your happy ending be?" She asks him, a playful smile forming at her lips. Killian knits his eyebrows incredulously, gives a hollow chuckle, and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

"I would think that's quite obvious, love." He tells her finally, his gaze intensely locked on hers. "It's you." Emma's breath hitches in the back of her throat, and her heart feels like it dropped down to the bottom of her stomach. Without thinking, she leans over and, dragging his face towards hers, places her lips on his. He responds by pushing her towards a corner against the wall and kissing her deeply. They kiss for what it seems is an eternity. It's passionate and electric, like they've woken up from a dream state they did not know they were in.

"I love you, Emma Swan. I always have." Killian breathes once they break apart, gliding his nose against hers before kissing her once again.

"I love you too, Killian. I really, _really_, do." She tells him, grinning into the kiss.

Suddenly, they're forced to break apart by the sound of Mary Margaret dropping a cup of what was presumably filled with hot cocoa and followed by the uncharacteristic shocked exclamation of "holy shit."

Holy shit, indeed.


End file.
